


Blanket & Wine

by Khaelis



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, First Dates, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:07:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21735757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khaelis/pseuds/Khaelis
Summary: They get stuck in a blizzard with a blanket and a bottle of wine on Christmas Eve.He decides he should drink wine more often.
Relationships: Alec Hardy/Ellie Miller
Comments: 10
Kudos: 119





	Blanket & Wine

**Author's Note:**

> Hello guys!
> 
> I have no idea what's happening - the Christmas spirit is getting to me, it seems!  
> Here is another short Alec/Ellie oneshot, Christma-themed and very very clichéd!
> 
> It was fun to write! I hope you'll enjoy it, and if I don't post anything else by then, MERRY CHRISTMAS! :-)

* * *

“Ten past nine.”

  
  


That’s what he reads on the dashboard, the small orange digital numbers glowing in the almost complete darkness.

  
  


“Thanks for reminding me.”

  
  


Her sigh follows, and her phone screen lights up a second later as if she wishes other numbers could be displayed over the photograph of her sons. Ten past nine. It would be fine, if they knew they wouldn’t be stuck in there for the better part of the night - or at the very least until the blizzard receded further into the West. They rarely get to experience that kind of weather in this part of the country, thanks to the sea bringing its saline air that fights the ice and frost. But tonight is different. The snow is thick, dense, carried along the powerful gusts of wind, stacking up on the cold asphalt and turning to dangerous frozen sheets of sleet.

They’re stuck here, under a lone tree on the border of a countryside road, deserted, cold and dark, running along the A35. It’s his fault.

He thought they would be able to make it back to Broadchurch before the snow hit - according to the weather forecast the blizzard was expected to swipe across the region much later during the night. It came sooner to please all those kids who longed to build snowmen and start snowball wars on Christmas Eve. 

  
  


“I’m sorry, Miller.”

“‘S alright. Not exactly looking forward to celebrating Christmas anyway. I do it for the kids, but… You know.”

“Aye.”

  
  


He understands. Christmas is not exactly a celebration he enjoys any longer either. Especially this year. Usually he gets to spend a full day with his daughter - she does Christmas Eve with him, hops back on the train to her mother for Christmas Day. This year, she’s off to another country. His plans had been to go home, enjoy the festivities on his own - a glass of wine or two, a frozen dish of turkey and mashed potatoes he got from the Tesco, bed. Alone.

He’s almost ashamed to think he’s glad he’s not alone now. Stuck in a car with her, it’s not so bad. 

He sees the clouds of white she blows out with each breath despite the heater on full power. He doesn’t want to mention it, because he knows she’s just going to deny it and be miffed he even dared to point it out. So he just moves his seat as far back as he can, twists his back and reaches for the tartan plaid he keeps on the backseat. He doesn’t offer it, simply shoves it on her lap before she can protest.

  
  


“I need to stop the engine to save some fuel if we want to make it to the end of the road.”

  
  


He gives her that excuse so she can pretend he doesn’t really care that she’s cold. He knows she doesn’t like him caring. It’s odd. He’s not the caring kind of bloke. Not with many people anyway. Shame she doesn’t know she’s one of the few he actually cares about. Very much cares about.

  
  


“What about you?”

“Scottish blood, I’ll be fine.”

  
  


It’s a little lie, because he does feel a bit cold, but he’s not about to suggest they share the blanket.  _ That  _ would be awkward. He’s happy giving her a small smile of encouragement when she unfolds the blanket and wraps it tight around her body. He does feel a bit cold, though. He shuts the engine off - not a lie, that, they  _ are  _ running low on petrol and they do need to save some if they want to drive the remaining hour back to the station. It won’t be long before the moderate warmth that was blowing through the fans will dissipate and turn to cold air.

It’s quiet now that the engine is dead. The low rumble is gone, replaced by silence broken only by the wind lashing against the windows. It’s going to be a long night if the weather doesn’t get any better soon. And he does feel a bit cold.

  
  


“Have you checked for hotels or B&Bs around here?”

“The nearest one is two miles and a half away. Not walking that distance into that snow storm, thank you very much.”

“Right.”

  
  


He contains his grunt of disappointment, wipes a hand down his face just so he can gather some of his hot breath in his palm, leans further back into his seat to stretch his legs. His eyes fall on the two empty cups of coffee abandoned in the cupholders. No coffee, but he’s got something that could warm them up a bit. 

He reaches towards the backseat again, grabs the paper bag and takes out the bottle of wine he bought earlier - the only companion he should have had on that Christmas Eve. He unscrews the cap - God bless wine caps you can unscrew, he thinks - and pours generous amounts in the empty cups. He hands one cup to her, keeps one for himself.

  
  


“I’m not sure that’s reasonable.”

“We’re stuck here for hours and you know it. And it’s Christmas. Can’t hurt.”

  
  


Maybe it can. He’s drunk it too fast and he hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast, there’s nothing in there to soak up the alcohol and he feels it spread fast and warm in his blood. At least he feels warmer now. And a bit lightheaded. It’s just a glass of wine, but he hasn’t drunk anything remotely alcoholic in a long, very long time. 

He’s scared his tongue is going to loosen up, he’s scared he’s going to say things he shouldn’t be saying, especially in such a tight space with the woman he very much cares about

With a shrug that roughly translates into  _ what the Hell _ , she pours them both another glass when the cups are empty. He’s thankful he’s only bought one bottle, he’s relieved to see they won’t get much more than two cups each. Unfortunately, two cups are enough. 

  
  


“We should do that more often.”

  
  


That wasn’t the right way to put it, so he winces and buries his nose into his almost empty cup to hide his grimace.

  
  


“Get stuck in a blizzard in the middle of nowhere on Christmas Eve? Defo.”

“I meant spending time off work together.”

  
  


Not only does he keep his nose buried in his cup and the words come out mumbled, but now he feels his whole body buried under a ton-heavy pile of embarrassment. Why hadn’t he put the bloody bottle in the boot when he’d had the chance?

The silence is so heavy now it somehow mutes the sound of the wind and the snow outside. He waits, and waits, for what feels like an eternity although he knows from the orange number glowing on the dashboard it’s only been a minute. Any word, anything would be better than silence.  _ As friends, you mean? _ , would be nice.  _ No thank you _ , would be great.  _ Sod off _ , would be perfect. But she doesn’t say any of that.

  
  


“I’d like that.”

  
  


He doesn’t know if she means it or if it’s just the wine that borrows her voice - probably not the alcohol, because he knows she holds her liquor much better than he does and all he is is a bit tipsy. But that answer makes him feel much better than he would have thought. Happy. He actually feels happy. And that’s enough to warm him up more than any bottle of wine ever could.

She throws some of the blanket to him, and when he catches it, he also catches her hand. It’s too soon to offer a cuddle - part of him wants to, but part of him knows it won’t be appropriate until they’ve had enough time to process the two sentences conversation properly. It doesn’t mean anything just yet.

Still, he’s happy. He holds her hand under the blanket, and he knows that simple gesture holds a significance neither of them understands, not in that moment.

It’s only early in the morning, when they’ve finally managed to drive back to the station, both cold and exhausted, that she takes her own step forward and invites him to come over for Christmas, just as she hands him a small gift wrapped in colourful paper and a ribbon. He says yes, just as he hands her a small gift wrapped in black and white paper, no ribbon.

When she opens the door an hour later, his face lights up with a small smile when he notices she’s wearing the hair pin he got her - tired of hearing her complain about the one she had broken a few weeks ago, he went for a discreet but elegant flowery style. Her face lights up when she notices he’s wearing the tie she got him - tired of seeing him with that dull black tie he always wore, she went for a deep burgundy one, all silk and shiny.

  
  


“Merry Christmas, Ellie.”

“Merry Christmas, Alec.”

  
  


She takes her hand to pull him inside, but once inside, he doesn’t want to let go.

He hopes there will be some wine for lunch. He wouldn’t mind seeing some mistletoe hanging around either.

* * *


End file.
